


Failsafe

by Mikato_Dragos



Category: MoonyVR
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikato_Dragos/pseuds/Mikato_Dragos
Summary: Meta title, I suppose.





	Failsafe

**Author's Note:**

> Failsafe  
> by Magi 'PTO' Democrati, Mikato Dragos and Retujy Democrati
> 
> Chronologically, this happens before 'Exodus', but we put off writing this because of circumstances.

'You're out late today, [y/n].' Your elder brother prises his head out his open doorway, watching you dump your backpack in the corner of your room. Nonetheless, he doesn't ask you why - he's merely checking that you weren't kidnapped or raped or suffered any of the many things that the news says you're at risk of nowadays.

The towel is felty under your fingers as you hang it in the bathroom, and so are your indoors clothes - softer than the abrasive keyboard-protector that you fondle every day, at least.

Shaaaaaa goes the showerhead, as little dollops of steam coil above the tub. These vulturish snakes surround you as soon as you take off your clothes, beckoning you to the solace of orchestral rain, sating your fervour of body-cleansing. Their condensated teardrops run down your body, allowing you a soothing bask in regret. It's not your fault that you got into a heated argument with your (now past) best friend. Sure, you might've started it, but they had been cold to you for a long time. The watter hammers you like the tonne splasher at the waterpark - heavily. You don't want to deal with the club that you and your friends started - there are enough problems surrounding that already. Call out his name, something compels you. You hesitate, of course - you haven't sunk so low that you'd sadistically vent your frustrations on your brother, right?

'Moon!' you command, and he rushes in, perhaps worried that you had slipped, fell, and broken twenty bones. With those worries assuaged, he closes his eyes, a wordless decry of your nakedness. 'What is it?', he replies. 'Take a shower with me', you tell him. He stands there for about five seconds, unresponsive, so you add, 'I'm feeling sleepy.' At that, he agrees, stripping off his usual clothes before tossing them on the sinktop.

He's sturdy as always, having kept his food intake of putatively raw meat under control. You never get why people like rare steaks so much, but hey, he doesn't eat much chocolate either. You chalk it up to genetics. The shampoo pools in his palm, and you lean on him, your face buried in his shoulder, as his fingers nimbly weave through your long hair. Your lips accidentally brush his skin, and he holds you under the shower in response, the plainness washing away the vestiges of his help.

The sweet scent of calendula rises in the air, like an aromantic candle in a pornography shoot, as if they would buy some hypoallergenic soap for people who have the best skin in the world. His hands wrap around your back, scrubbing you down, little jolts of electrons running through your spine when he rubs it. Upon detecting that you're actively pressing onto him, he pushes you away and surmises that 'you should wash your front by yourself', before turning away. Horny mutt.

Or does that term apply to you, when you push him against the wall, his erection throbbing on the steamy faux marble as you slip your hands over his thighs onto his penis? 'Don't - ah - agh', he crumbles, as you thrust yourself forwards, squeezing him with the tips of your fingers, and though he tries to get out, his sensitivity is too much, and you continually force him back onto the polished rock, renewing the process, every time intensifying the experience. A sticky fluid slickens the process, his pre-cum leaking out as you play with him. 'Awaah... [y/n], let me cuuum...' he breaths, and you infer that you've been keeping him on the edge all this time, the slow movements never enough to send him over it.

You turn him around, his back leaning on the wall. His dick twitches, almost painfuly, as you start the accelerando, his mouth open, attempting to say your name, as his constricted pupils focus on you - Moon's hands clench as he mumbles out an 'I'm c-cummminggg' and spurts his white liquid over your stomach, again and again, a handjob during an ejaculation too much for him...

Several seconds pass, his blush fading as he goes limp. It takes double that time for him to say 'jeez, [y/n]', and triple to say 'thank you.' But it is only when you two step out of the shower, all cleaned up, that he asks you, 'what's up?'

Perhaps he thought that a question would ruin the moment, or would be too rude. Perhaps he thought that you wouldn't answer. He's right, and you don't. Your brother can't solve anything for you, and he shouldn't. He's not even blood, but adopted.

Still - he understands you. So he lets you into his bedroom, and you fall asleep next to him.

Not happy - 

but at least comforted.


End file.
